


Burn

by karlark



Series: based on (ham) songs [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, The Reynolds Pamphlet, i feel like this is really bad please let me know if it is!, i love eliza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karlark/pseuds/karlark
Summary: The words swam in front of her eyes; my real crime is an amorous connection with his wife… for a considerable time with his knowing consent… frequent meetings… own house… Mrs. Hamilton… absent… her father… She finally made eye contact with her sister, identifying the feeling slowly engulfing her. Rage. ---aka, eliza schuyler hamilton discovers that she probably should've listened to her sister.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like this story is all over the place? please let me know

Eliza crossed her arms, glancing around the streets nervously. People ( _strangers_ , her mind whispered) were staring, casting her a variety of looks. A woman conversing with her husband across the street spotted her and gasped, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. The woman's husband turned around to follow his wife's gaze, and Eliza shot them a confused look. For what possible reason could people be reacting so strongly to seeing her? That is… unless her Alexander has done something. With that thought in her mind, her eyes widened and she pulled her shawl tighter around her. 

_I have to get home_ , Eliza thought, her throat tight. Something was terribly wrong. 

On her way home, she considered all of the things that Alexander might have done. She couldn't imagine the trouble he might've gotten in; not with a four year old, a six year old, and a ten year old at home. Well, she figures, he never really did have to watch them all that often. That was usually Eliza's job. She was the one who'd watch the kids; her dear husband was usually holed up in his office, or out on business. 

Her thoughts jumbled together. She was only getting more aggravated as time went on. She couldn’t figure out what he could’ve done, but she had learned to keep an open mind, and to not underestimate what he could do. 

Finally, _finally_ , she had arrived. Home. She took a moment out in front of the door to breathe. She couldn’t explain why she felt so… scared. 

She pushed open the door to her home, calling out timidly. “Hello?”

“Eliza!” 

“Angelica!” Eliza gasped, stumbling back in shock as her older sister rounded the corner. “What… what are you doing here? All the way from London!” 

“Eliza… Elizabeth… don’t tell me you haven’t read the news?” Angelica said, looking a strange mix of sad and enraged. Eliza shook her head, feeling more and more scared by the moment. “No… Oh, Eliza…” 

“Angelica, what? What has happened?” 

Her sister held out her hand, producing a pile of papers Eliza hadn’t noticed before. “Read it yourself.”

She reached out hesitantly, biting her lip anxiously. “ _The Reynolds Pamphlet_ ,” she read, eyebrows furrowing. She tried to think of someone, anyone, she knew called ‘Reynolds.’ She came up blank. “ _The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds_ … James Reynolds? But who is…” 

She glanced up at Angelica. Her sister shook her head, pointing down at the papers again. Eliza went back to reading, this time silently. Her throat felt too tight for her to continue speaking, anyways. The words swam in front of her eyes. When she finished, she glanced back up at Angelica. “Oh, Eliza…” her sister reached up, using the back of her finger to gently brush Eliza's cheek. Oh. She’s crying. 

“I can’t believe him,” she whispered, filled with an indescribable emotion. “That- that _bastard!_ ” 

The words swam in front of her eyes; _my real crime is an amorous connection with his wife… for a considerable time with his knowing consent… frequent meetings… own house… Mrs. Hamilton… absent… her father…_ She finally made eye contact with her sister, identifying the feeling slowly engulfing her. 

_Rage._

“Angelica… I should have heeded your warnings… I should have… I…” she stumbled over her words, angry. Angelica opened her mouth to speak, but Eliza shook her head, gently pushing past her to the living room. She clenched the cursed 'Reynolds Pamphlet' in her fist, teeth clenched angrily. 

“Damn you,” she spat. “ _Damn you_ , and your wretched lies! You… You were meant to be mine. Did… did they all mean nothing? I bet you said the same things to that damn-“ she stopped, tears streaming down her face. She spotted a stray letter on the table next to Alexander’s chair.

In a moment of pure animosity, she slammed a hand down on the desk, dragging the letter down with her as she dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace. The heat licked at her face as the flames danced in front of her. She glanced down at the letter. My dear Betsey... She laughed bitterly, tearing it into shreds and tossing them into the fire. The Reynolds Pamphlet received the same treatment.

When she finished, she slowly got to her feet, turning around and facing Angelica. She was aware she probably didn’t look great, with strands of her hair sticking to her face because of the tears streaking down her cheeks, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. This was her big sister, her _hero_. Angelica understood her. 

Her sister stood up slowly from the chair she was watching from, and opened her arms. A sob escaped Eliza as she stumbled forward, falling into Angelica's arms. 

“He had no right,” she sobbed. “No right to tell the world. What about the kids? What am I going to do? They slept… They slept in my bed! He… He doesn’t deserve to sleep there anymore. He doesn’t deserve anything. Damn him. He’s going to have to live with what he’s done. See if he can sleep in his damn office, since he loves it so much.” 

Angelica let her ramble. She moved them to the couch she had been sitting on, running a hand through Eliza's hair gently. 

“Angelica…” 

“Yes?”

“I hope that he burns,” she whispers. “I hope he burns, burns like those damn letters he loves to write.”


End file.
